


The 1992 River Vixens Back-to-School Car Wash

by FreshBrains



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Community: femslash_kink, Dirty Talk, F/F, High School, POV Hermione Lodge, Pre-Canon, Shower Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 14:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13503047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: Alice might wash cars with her mile-long legs and perfect laugh, tease the entire football team with nothing but a slipping bikini string, but at the end of the day, she’s Hermione’s.





	The 1992 River Vixens Back-to-School Car Wash

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW The Annual Femslash Kink Meme 2017 prompt: Alice/Hermione, shower sex.
> 
> Since timelines are so shaky in this show, I imagine this as junior year, making it **underage** (before Alice's pregnancy). The year is just a headcanon based on guessing parents' ages and Chic's age.

The annual River Vixens Back to School Car Wash falls on the hottest day of early autumn. They’re lucky this year—sophomore year was rained out before noon and freshman year was so cold the girls washed cars in jeans and sweatshirts, defeating the altogether purpose of one last summer fling. But this year sees a full day of bright, cloudless skies and a warm breeze that makes their hand-painted banner flutter noisily above Pop’s.

Hermione turns on Main Street, her cherry-red Grand Am gliding quietly up to the line of cars waiting for a wash. She rolls down her window and waves a handful of bills when she finally spies a high, sun-bleached blonde ponytail among the group of bikini-clad cheerleaders.

“Hey, River Vixen,” she sing-songs. “What does a girl have to do to jump ahead in line here?”

Alice whips around, her ponytail swishing around her neck. When she sees Hermione’s car, she grins and throws her a cheerful middle finger. “Come on up, baby,” she yells, hands cupped around her mouth. “I’ll get you nice and clean.”

Hermione winks at her and pulls around the line of cars, ignoring their annoyed honking. She parks in an open space to the left of the group next to a row of plastic buckets and yellow sponges. The pavement is already wet and glittering, close to steaming in the heat, and most of the other girls are busy with half a dozen cars in Pop’s lot. Pop was always good about letting the Vixens use the space every year, mostly because nothing cools down horny high school boys (and their dads) like a strawberry milkshake.

“Good turnout,” Hermione says, resting her sunglasses atop her head. “How many have asked for you specifically this year?”

“Enough to keep me busy,” Alice says, leaning into Hermione’s car. She glances around, blue eyes mischievous, before pecking Hermione on the lips in greeting. “FP has been through twice. Paid me double plus a dime bag, but I think he was doing it for Fred more than anything.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. Fred _would_ be too shy to come to the car wash himself. She supposes she can’t blame him. There’s something so luridly _tacky_ about the whole thing—teenage girls in cut-off shorts and bikini tops soaping down the sedans and trucks of Riverdale’s finest for handfuls of bills, giggling and screaming, spraying each other down like they’re in a damn Aerosmith music video. Hermione’s inclinations would normally say she’d love the sight, but it’s such a blatant show of manipulation that all she can do is admire the Vixens’ industry.

Well, most of the Vixens, that is. Alice, in her too-small cut-offs with the zipper open to reveal high-hipped neon pink bikini bottoms, is a gift in and of herself. Her skin is golden brown from a season spent outdoors, her white bikini top is barely enough to contain the perfect, soft spill of her breasts, and when she leans back to take a swig from the sweating can of orange Fanta in her hand, sweat glistens at the bob of her throat.

“So is this enough for a wash?” Hermione flashes two twenties at Alice with a grin, holding the bills between her glossy French-tipped nails.

Alice purses her lips like she’s considering the offer. “How about,” she says, plucking the bills from Hermione’s hand, “we skip the cash.” She tucks the folded bills into the vee of Hermione’s white tee shirt, the paper crinkling against her breasts. “And instead of a wash, I meet you at your place later.”

Hermione exhales, wondering when her girl got so damn _smooth_. She’s certainly not learning it from FP, who is a master at being an endearingly vulgar asshole, or Fred, who can barely look at a girl his age without blushing and apologizing. Maybe she’s learning it from Hermione herself— _that_ makes Hermione flush with pride.

“I’ll be there,” Hermione says, looking up at Alice with hooded eyes. She tips her sunglasses off her head and hands them to Alice. “Take these. It’s bright today.”

“My hero,” Alice says, smiling sweetly. Hermione likes that smile, all crinkle-eyed and genuine, nothing like the toothy, flirty look she shoots guys in the hallway. “See you later, H.” She turns and bounces off to the next car, sandals slapping against her feet and hair swinging against the bare small of her back.

Hermione’s know her faults and flaws. She knows she can be possessive and haughty, knows she expects too much from the world. She sees those faults in her mom and dad, in Hiram when he’s needling her to go on a date with him. But right now, she can’t care about that triumphant welling of emotion in her chest.

Alice might wash cars with her mile-long legs and perfect laugh, tease the entire football team with nothing but a slipping bikini string, but at the end of the day, she’s Hermione’s.

*

It’s late afternoon by the time Hermione settles into her bedroom to wait for Alice. The big house is unusually empty for a Saturday. Sometimes it makes Hermione lonely—with a house so cold and cavernous, it is easy to miss the sound of Myriam Hernández ballads filtering in from her mother’s bedroom or the soothing tone of her dad’s business-stern voice on the phone in his study. But now, with the cooling breeze coming in through the windows and the sounds of lawnmowers and sprinklers creating the perfect late summer song, she’s glad to have the place to herself.

She used to see her bedroom as a place of function, somewhere to sleep and dress, but having Alice around more often changed that. Alice’s folks aren’t that bad, but their trailer on the South Side is small and noisy, and the surrounding neighborhood isn’t much better. There’s definitely a lack of privacy.

Alice _loved_ Hermione’s bedroom. She loved the fluffy white quilted duvet Hermione’s _abuela_ made for her before she was born. She loved the pink four-poster canopy and brass bedframe. She loved the Prince and Color Me Badd tapes neatly lined up on a low shelf beneath Hermione’s sleek silver stereo. She loved the plush carpet, the red fleur-de-lis wallpaper, and especially the attached private bathroom with a frosted-glass shower, enclosed tub, and seafoam-green towels. She loved Hermione’s spicy candles and Tabu perfume and pretty much anything else that was truly, uniquely _Hermione_.

Hermione lies back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The old glow-in-the-dark stars from her childhood are obscured by the pink tulle canopy. It’s like looking at them through clouds. She’s growing bored—she already watched an old movie on TV, painted her toenails, called up Mary to see what she was doing (nothing exciting, as usual), and even started in on her trigonometry homework, which she quickly abandoned. She wasn’t used to spending weekends without Alice in her constant company, and it was starting to wear on her. She would put in a tape, but she’s so comfy and her stereo is across the room. She’s not a fan of the one FP recently lent her, but Alice likes it, the wailing male vocals and haunting guitars.

She sighs and rolls over onto her stomach. The duvet is cool against her bare arms and legs, the breeze from the window ruffling her hair against her shoulders. She hates waiting. She hopes Alice isn’t going out with the team for burgers afterwards.

Before she knows it, she’s fast asleep, the sunlight slanting in through the blinds.

*

Hermione wakes up with a start as a hundred and five pounds of teenage girl heavily straddles her back, crowing, “Guess who made enough money for a new stereo for the gym?”

“ _Alice_ ,” Hermione groans, shifting underneath the other girl until she’s on her back, her white sundress twisted around her hips. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“You’re fine,” Alice says airily, grinning from ear to ear. “Come on, let’s go out. I skimmed a little off the top.” She flutters a handful of bills in one hand.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Hermione says. “What if you get caught?” It’s not that she doesn’t admire Alice’s ingenuity. After all the bullshit the other Vixens put her through, she deserves to reap some of the reward for all her hard work. She just doesn’t want to think of the repercussions of the only South Side girl on the team getting caught with stolen cash.

“I never get caught, baby,” Alice says. “And besides, I wanted to do something nice for you. You’re always paying when we go out.”

Hermione frowns, even as Alice leans over to put the money on the night-table and her bikini top dips dangerously low. But she also knows better than to start a conversation about money with Alice looking so happy, so she forgoes the battle for now.

Besides, she can tell another battle is coming, judging solely by how horrifically _filthy_ Alice is where she’s still straddling Hermione on the bed.

“Alice Elizabeth,” Hermione says slowly, eyes scanning Alice from head to toe. “If you don’t get your butt into that shower in ten seconds, I’m making you wash my bedsheets by hand.”

Alice glances down at herself like she’s seeing her body for the first time. She’s got someone’s (probably FP’s) sweatshirt on over her bikini top, unzipped to her belly button, and it’s wet at the cuffs and hem from repeatedly dipping sponges into buckets. It smells like FP’s cigarettes and the harsh chemical clean of industrial soap. Her long, sun-tanned legs and toned arms are streaked with dried mud and her bare feet are practically black from walking back and forth across the hot pavement all day long.

Hermione swallows hard, feeling her cheeks suddenly heat. She’s never admit it out loud, but seeing Alice all unkempt and dirty with sunburn across her nose and the smell of car exhaust on her skin is unbelievably sexy. She envies the way Alice can go from _femme fatale_ in red lipstick and killer heels to mud-splattered wild-child without missing a beat. She’s a chameleon, and that will serve her well in the future.

Hermione’s never been good at that. She’s just _herself_ , through and through. Alice has a lot of selves and each and every one of them makes Hermione love her more.

Alice grins, slow and easy, and Hermione knows she’s been caught. “What, am I getting the Little Princess’ pretty white linens all dirty?” She flops dramatically down onto Hermione and they both break out into breathless laughter. “Whatever shall we do? I’ve brought shame upon the house!” Hermione smacks her with a pillow, but Alice just catches it with one hand and leans in to kiss Hermione. She tastes like heat and orange soda, all sticky-sweet. Her hands cup Hermione’s face; there’s dirt under her chipped pink fingernails.

“I’m serious,” Hermione says, a whine edging into her voice. “My mom will kill me if I ruin this quilt. I’ll go start the shower.”

Alice rolls her eyes but obediently hops off the bed, walking gingerly on her toes so she doesn’t streak the carpet with black asphalt dust. “I’m totally using all of your vanilla body wash, just so you know.”

“Don’t you dare,” Hermione says, trailing after her into the bathroom. She doesn’t really mind, though—she prefers to smell it on Alice.

By the time Hermione starts the tap for the water to heat up, Alice is already stripping down to her bikini. She leaves her shorts and sweatshirt crumpled on the floor next to the toilet and pulls the pink scrunchie out of her hair, shaking out her blonde waves. She doesn’t even have to use Sun-In like the other girls—her hair is naturally wheat-gold and gorgeous. When she flips her mane over her shoulder and turns to look at Hermione, she smiles. “You’re staring,” she teases, and unties her bikini top in one smooth motion, letting it fall to the tile.

Hermione swallows hard but doesn’t look away. It’s always a little game between them, seeing who will crack first, who will blush or moan or laugh. The water is comfortably warm, so she starts the showerhead and closes the frosty-paned door. The rushing of hot water muffles the sound of her heart hammering in her chest when Alice strips off her bikini bottoms and kicks them into the corner next to the trash can.

“You’re such a slob,” Hermione says, but she’s staring blatantly at Alice’s body. The bathroom is slowly starting to steam up and the heat combined with the warm glow of the peach wallpaper bathes Alice in a rosy light. “Come here.”

“Aw, Princess Hermione’s going to kiss a slob,” Alice teases, but comes willingly, slinging her arms over Hermione’s shoulders. She’s only a couple inches taller than Hermione but she uses it to her advantage. Her body is warm against Hermione’s front, but when Hermione trails her fingers down Alice’s sides, she realizes Alice’s breasts are cool and damp to the touch from her wet swimsuit. It sends a little thrill of arousal down Hermione’s spine as she strokes Alice’s hard nipple with her thumb, trying to will away the last of the chill with her own body.

“That’s nice,” Alice sighs, arching into Hermione’s hands. Her breasts are small and pert and they fill Hermione’s hands nicely. Alice shivers into it, nipples stiff against Hermione’s palms, and her legs spread, seeking the friction of Hermione’s thigh between them.

Before she gets too caught up, Hermione pulls away and groans. “Seriously?” The skirt of her white eyelet sundress is streaked in dirt. “You barely touched me!”

“Well, _you_ touched me enough to get me all hot,” Alice pouts. She opens the shower door, letting the warm mist coat their skin. “So now that you’re dirty, I guess you’ll have to join me.”

“Save the pick-up lines for FP,” Hermione says drily, reaching back awkwardly to unzip her dress. As if she wasn’t going to join Alice anyways. The warm day has turned into a cool afternoon and Hermione’s glad to be in this small, warm cavern of steam and heat with her favorite person. The bathroom is windowless, so the outside world remains foreign. It could be dark and storming, it could be cool and windless. Hermione doesn’t care about anything but the bathroom.

“Let me,” Alice says. She puts one hand on Hermione’s hip, holding her steady as she works the zipper down slowly. “No bra? What a hussy,” Alice teases, slipping her hand up to squeeze Hermione’s breast, making the other girl yelp and laugh. Hermione’s dress pools on the floor at her feet. She’s left in only her pink satin panties, the ones that make Alice go wild and call her _princess_ when they fuck.

Alice hums in appreciation. Her fingers slide beneath the waistband, teasing soft skin. “God, that’s so hot,” she whispers hotly into Hermione’s neck, turning them just a bit so Hermione can see them in the oval-shaped bathroom mirror. “Look at how wet you are for me.”

Hermione’s neck and cheeks heat when she sees that the front of her pink panties are dark and damp already. She squeezes her thighs together, squirming back against Alice, aching for Alice to reach around and give her a little relief. But Alice just holds her gaze in the mirror, eyes dark, and tugs Hermione’s panties off. Hermione can feel her devious smile against the curve of her neck.

Alice rubs at the spots on Hermione’s hips and ass where the lace edging of her underwear dug into the skin and left red marks. “Perfect,” she says, almost distracted, the water thundering in the shower behind them. “I’m getting cold. Let’s warm up.”

Hermione sighs when Alice pulls away, but she follows her into the shower quickly, closing the frosted door with a metallic _click_. It’s obviously a well-used bathtub. The low acrylic sides are lined in colorful bottles of bubble bath, bath salts, and hair products. A fat orange loofah hangs from the shower rack next to the detachable showerhead. Glittery rubber stickers decorate the peach and rose tiles.

Alice instantly hogs the hot spray, letting the water soak her hair and neck. She groans, eyes closed in ecstasy. “I could live in here,” she says, turning to face Hermione (but more likely to warm the other side of her body). “Can I live here?”

“Only if you clean it,” Hermione says sweetly. “Now move over, I’m freezing my butt off.” They end up shuffling into each other’s’ arms, pressed front to front, the water sluicing between them. Hermione reaches down for a pearly bottle of vanilla bean body wash, then grabs the loofah. Despite still aching between her legs, she sets her sights on getting Alice clean.

The water at the bottom of the tub soon turns to the color of dishwater as Hermione scrubs Alice from the top down—first with the vanilla soap, then with a handful of brown sugar body scrub, getting her elbows and knees and dirty heels. Alice revels in it, a peaceful smile on her face as she just leans back in the warm spray and lets Alice attend to her. Her skin is soft and dewy, water pearling on her neck and breasts, soap clinging to the small of her back. Her hair plasters to her shoulders in brown-gold swirls.

“Let me do your hair,” Hermione says. She washes it like the girls at her salon do, with great care and gentle fingers, massaging the cucumber-melon shampoo into Alice’s scalp. She’s ready to go for the conditioner, but Alice shakes her head and presses Hermione against the slick shower wall, warm hands cupping her face.

“Let me love _you_ now,” she says, pressing soft, small kisses to Hermione’s lips, adoring her in the private quiet of the shower, so wonderfully, uncharacteristically gentle that Hermione could cry. The she grins again, showing off slightly-crooked front teeth. “Turn around, honey. And spread your legs.”

_That’s more like it_ , Hermione thinks, and feels her belly flutter in anticipation as she presses her palms to the wall. Her cunt aches again, begging to be touched. The smell of warm vanilla and clean soap makes her head feel warm and hazy.

“I used to imagine you in here,” Alice huffs, voice low and silky in Hermione’s ear, hands firm on her hips. “I thought your showerhead was so fancy, the way it detached. Then I thought of you lying in your bathtub with your legs up on the sides.” Her hand wanders down between Hermione’s legs, gently parting them so she can cup the silken heat of her cunt. “Thought of you getting off and trying to be quiet.”

Hermione melts into Alice’s firm touch. There isn’t a lot of room to move, but she works her hips down on Alice’s hand, seeking friction as the water slicks their bodies. “You were wrong,” she says. Alice’s hair falls down over both their shoulders in a heavy, wet curtain. It sticks to Hermione’s skin as she moves, trying to get Alice to put her fingers inside of her.

“You’re telling me you never got off in here? Never pressed this thing,” she says, grasping onto the showerhead for leverage with her free hand as she teases two fingers around Hermione’s cunt, “against your clit and rode one out? God, you’re more repressed than I thought you were.”

Hermione lets the comment send a dirty, embarrassed tingle down her spine. Alice _knows_ she isn’t repressed—their current positions were proof enough. But Hermione secretly loved that Alice thought of her as a pristine, pretty princess who could only get off with her girlfriend’s fingers inside of her or her mouth on her cunt.

“No,” Hermione says, grinning into the shower wall, “I got off. Never in the tub though. I was always standing up,” she says, panting, lifting one leg onto the built-in ledge on the side of the tub, opening herself up for Alice’s fingers, “thinking of you fucking me like this.” Bottles and jars clatter to the shower floor in a spectacular bang, but neither of them care.

Alice slides two fingers into Hermione to the second knuckle, the motion sure and practiced, and moves another finger up to spread Hermione’s lips and tease at her clit. It’s a good, hard, slick maneuver that has Hermione groaning in record time, hips moving to make Alice go deeper and faster. “Just like this?” Alice teases. Her other hand comes around Hermione’s waist to focus on her clit, the dual sensations of outside and inside pleasure making Hermione’s knees go weak. She builds up a steady rhythm, fingers pumping slickly inside, pressure peaking outside. “Tell me, is this what you imagined?”  

Hermione knows that if the shower wall wasn’t slick from the spray, it’d be wet from her panting mouth, her lips inches from the cool acrylic. “Al,” she moans, breath hitching each time Alice curls her fingers. “Al- _ice_.”

Alice laughs against Hermione’s neck, her teeth grazing Hermione’s nape and making her shiver. The water has gone cool over their bodies—not cold, but comfortable, urging them close together and trapping the leftover body heat between them. Hermione can hear Alice’s excited, wild breathing behind her when she pushes Hermione closer to the wall, the dew unpleasantly chilly at first. But when she traps her hand beneath the wall and Hermione’s cunt, Hermione knows what to do. She ride’s Alice’s hand to completion, getting her orgasm from the dull, aching pressure of Alice’s palm, cunt tightening and spasming around nothing as she comes in short, heady waves.

She cries out softly, the sound echoing off the shower walls, and Alice’s groans spur her on, lips pressed against Hermione’s ear as she comes down.

The shower blurs and melts for only a second as Hermione catches her breath and opens her eyes. The small space is a mess of soapy froth and fallen bottles, the plastic knocking against their ankles, and the water is quickly going from cool to cold. The water slows then stops as Alice turns the faucet knob.

“And I didn’t even get to use this,” Alice says mournfully, tapping the shower head, and they both let out exhausted laughs, suddenly loud in the silent space. “Let’s get you dried off.”

Hermione lets Alice take the lead and drape their bodies in half a dozen fluffy towels, their hair up in soft twists. She’s always bone-tired after an orgasm, but she’s also mindful that Alice never came, never even got a hand on her, and that won’t do at all. Hermione might think herself royalty, but she’s no pillow princess.

“Now that you’re all clean,” she says, leading Alice outside the bathroom and to the bed, “you are welcome aboard.” The air is nice and cool and the room is shadowed in twilight, the curtains fluttering a little in the breeze.

Alice drops her towel and jumps onto the bed in all her naked glory, looking fresh and pink and so perfect Hermione wants to eat her up. “And now that I’m all clean,” she says, waving down at her naked body, “I’m ready for _other stuff_ , too.”

“Classy,” Hermione says, rolling her eyes, jumping onto the bed and into Alice’s arms.


End file.
